


I got the recipe

by HelloPotato



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Femslash February
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:16:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9603581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloPotato/pseuds/HelloPotato
Summary: “Since when did you care this much about Potions, anyway?” Dean asked as he sat down opposite her. “I thought you hated it.”“I do,” she mumbled into the wood, “I just want to earn my Potioneers certificate, and you need N.E.W.T level Potions to qualify.” After a year of sweating over cauldrons she could safely say that she loathed the subject, but it would all be worth it if she actually managed to get there.





	

Hermione left her at the library with a stack of notes thicker than her forearm and a regret for every time that she had ever let her mind wander during Potions class.

Even at this time of night, the library was full of fifth years and seventh years and nebulously-titled eighth years scribbling on parchment and drooling on textbooks. With the whole school caught up in the stress of exams, the only noise came from shuffling papers and scratching quills (and what may have been a student sobbing in the corner), and Parvati was afraid to breathe too deeply lest she provoke one of her high-strung peers. The light provided by numerous flickering candles did nothing to combat the darkness that night could bring to a cavernous, gloomy castle, so she had her wand in hand as she poured over a remarkably detailed diagram on the effects of improperly brewed Skele-Gro potion.

Her eyes were itching with tiredness, but she couldn’t bring herself to pack up and return to her dormitory, where one of the beds would be cold and empty. It would remain that way until morning, until Lavender returned from her monthly stay at St. Mungo’s with dark shadows under her eyes and a headache that would keep her from class for the rest of the day.

Werewolves weren’t afforded much in the way of secrecy these days. No official announcement was ever made, no names published in the Daily Prophet, but it was easy for students to remember who had fallen at the feet of a wizard with bloody teeth during that final battle. They were the ones whose strength wavered and weight fluctuated with the waning of the moon, the ones who disappeared when it was at its fullest and sat silently at their desks the next day while the rest of their classmates existed around them.

A werewolf bite. Such a tragedy. The people who sat in the Gryffindor common room treated Lavender like she hadn’t survived it.

_Fuck them_ , Parvati thought, striking a line through a poorly-worded sentence. _She doesn’t need them anyway. It’s always just been the two of us_.

That wasn’t entirely true, as evidenced by her borrowed notes and the packet of Every Flavour Beans that Dean had snuck into her bag, which she was sampling whenever Pince’s back was turned. But nobody could deny that from first year onward it had been Parvati and Lavender, the inseparable duo, giggling over crystal balls and nursing crushes on boys together. Cramming for tests. Relaxing by the lake. Guaranteed partners in every Charms class.

Parvati and Lavender, the famous partnership whose friendship almost didn’t survive when one of them started their first real relationship. Parvati, who had kept Lavender’s longing for their classmate company with musings about their unattainable ( _but_ , she assured herself, _attractive_ ) four-legged Divination teacher, had not been expecting the sick, burning jealousy that erupted in her stomach whenever she saw Lavender and Ron kissing. Or holding hands. Or being indecent in public, which happened with uncomfortable frequency.

How did you explain to your best friend that you wanted them to stop thinking about boys and start thinking about you instead?

Simply put, you didn’t. You shoved everything down and avoided your friend and ignored the guilt that you felt over her confusion and growing hurt. Better that than the guilt that was caused by sitting in the Great Hall with her slumped tiredly against you, her head resting on your shoulder and her long, soft hair trailing into somebody's pumpkin juice.

Lavender was terrible with mornings back then, and she was worse now, always clinging to the last few minutes of sleep. Parvati and Hermione had taken to ganging up on her and stealing her sheets, which had her at least sitting upright and muttering threats at a reasonable hour.

Sleep was what Parvati needed, with her practical Potions exam just days away. She made her way back to the common room in a daze, mumbling something to the Fat Lady that granted her entrance and stumbling up the stairs to what were hopefully the girls' dormitories.

-

Parvati left the exam room feeling like she had just swallowed some of her own Confusing Concoction, certain both that her Draught of Living Death hadn’t been clear enough and that she was too exhausted to care as much as she probably should.

_After all this work, if I don’t get at least an E for this bloody exam, I won’t responsible for my actions_ , was her woozy conclusion as she let the stream of students carry her along to lunch.

Seamus laughed when she dropped her head down gently onto the table, narrowly avoiding his plate.

“Exam went well then?” Parvati groaned in response. A hand patted her head clumsily.

“Since when did you care this much about Potions, anyway?” Dean asked as he sat down opposite her. “I thought you hated it.”

“I do,” she mumbled into the wood, “I just want to earn my Potioneers certificate, and you need N.E.W.T level Potions to qualify.” After a year of sweating over cauldrons she could safely say that she loathed the subject, but it would all be worth it if she actually managed to get there.

-

She was woken by a sudden weight on her mattress. The room was dark, but she could make out a vague shape sitting over her and hurried to draw her wand before her brain registered that the shape was Lavender.

“Could you move over?”

She pulled back the covers and slid in beside her, and Parvati lit her wand so that she could see Lavender properly as they faced each other, legs tangled together beneath the covers. The soft glow reflected off eyes that were tired but fond, and Parvati couldn’t squash the quiet thrill she felt as a pair of arms curled around her waist.

"Mmm, wand-light. How romantic."

Even now it still caught her off-guard sometimes, that Lavender wanted to do this.

"Shut up."

-

Parvati hated Potions. She hated how precisely ingredients had to be measured, the randomness of the instructions, and the way that any potion worth brewing could only be made under a blue moon while hopping on one foot (an exaggeration, but only slightly). She hated how her nerves quivered when she carefully poured in a syrup that had been extracted from some poor, unsuspecting toad.

She hated Potions, but she loved the way that Lavender’s face lit up when she came home to their shared flat and found her in the kitchen, a cauldron full of Wolfsbane potion bubbling in the sink.

And she knew not to be offended when Lavender nearly spat it out.

“Pity sugar makes it useless.”


End file.
